Ironic
by Lothiriel84
Summary: Lisbon stared at her boss as he walked into her office and shut the door behind him. She couldn't help wondering why Luther Wainwright looked even more lost than usual today. - Title from the namesake song by Alanis Morissette.
1. The yellow envelope

**The yellow envelope  
**

Lisbon stared at her boss as he walked into her office and shut the door behind him. She couldn't help wondering why Luther Wainwright looked even more lost than usual today.

"I've just received this from the Santa Ana P.D.", he stated as he handed her a bulky file tied with string.

Since he offered no further explanation, Lisbon opened it and began skimming the first papers.

Apparently it was all about a respectable member of that community – Meredith Blake, travelling salesman, age 52 – who had just died from lung cancer.

Why on Earth had the local police sent that stuff to the CBI? People dying a natural death weren't any of the Serious Crime Unit's concern – and the man wasn't even a suspect in one of their cases.

Then she found something different. A large yellow envelope accompanied by a rather important-looking piece of paper – the latter being the aforementioned man's last will and testament.

It was very clear and concise. Mr. Blake had arranged for the sealed envelope to be sent to the CBI shortly after his death. The notary had probably contacted the local police first for good measure.

Inside the yellow envelope – no longer sealed, since the Santa Ana P.D. had checked on it before forwarding – there was a little notebook and a smaller envelope.

This one was still sealed. There was no address on it, just a few words scribbled in red ink.

_To Mr. Patrick Jane._

Her horrified gaze met Wainwright's.

She simply couldn't bring herself to check on what the deceptively innocent-looking notebook's contents might be.


	2. The leather cover notebook

**The leather cover notebook**

She had dismissed her team earlier that evening – pretending not to notice the inquiring look that had appeared on Jane's face.

Now there she was – in the relative shelter provided by her boss's office. It was nearly half past eleven, and the two of them were running through the pages of the little notebook again and again.

Lisbon was beginning to feel really sick. Judging from the pained grimace that showed on Wainwright's face, his reaction to the remarkable prose they were reading wasn't any different from her own.

"It's _him_, isn't it?", he whispered at long last – his voice cracking with mixed emotions.

She bit her lip. "I guess so. We mustn't rush to unsupported conclusions anyway. It might as well be some sort of elaborate con – he's done that before, as a matter of fact."

"You mean the Timothy Carter business?"

"Yeah."

Her boss nodded thoughtfully. "Here's a sample of the man's handwriting – courtesy of the local P.D. They've been thoroughly considerate, I have to say. If it matches the one on this notebook…"

"Then we'll be sure he had _written_ it. He might be still a copycat or something like that."

"I'll have every single detail checked. There should be plenty of evidence hidden somewhere – according to the diary he'd kept."

"If there is such evidence, we're going to find it. No matter how long it takes."

Wainwright considered for a moment the Senior Agent's determined expression. "This isn't just about your job, is it?"

"I owe it to Jane."

"Are we going to tell him about all this?"

A heavy silence followed. Lisbon was desperately trying to evaluate her options.

On one side, Jane's extensive knowledge on that particular subject would be extremely valuable. On the other side, the whole thing could end up destroying what remained of his fragile mental equilibrium.

"I'd rather wait till we find some kind of proof that this story might actually be true. I'll tell him then – or not even mention it at all."

"Okay", Wainwright approved.

He didn't relish the prospect of Jane going crazier than usual anyway.


	3. The cabin in the woods

**The cabin in the woods**

Even Cho had raised his eyebrows when she had announced she was going to take a two week vacation. And Jane had teased her merciless about her supposed secret love affair – implying the fact that a certain glamorous billionaire might have something to do with that.

So she had simply seized the opportunity and dropped a few hints about planning to visit several European cities. While her actual destination wasn't Paris or London, but a long list of much less thrilling Californian spots.

Not to mention the fact that she wasn't going to meet a ridiculously attractive man or something. Her travelling companion would be no one else that Luther Wainwright himself.

Lisbon wondered if Jane would tease her all the same – had he known that.

The search for the hiding place mentioned in the little leather cover notebook had been unsuccessful so far. The two weeks were running out, and the lack of progress was rather frustrating.

They were currently wandering on the border of the woods around Oakhurst – just a few miles away from Yosemite National Park.

"Hey, look at that."

Wainwright was pointing at a shabby log cabin – which seemingly hadn't been used for the last couple of years or so.

The interior was rather disappointing at first glance. Cobwebs and dust covered almost everything – and there was no furniture except for a table and a chair.

Then Lisbon discovered a trapdoor on the floor. Both of them struggled for a while before managing to wrench it open.

A flight of steps led them to a stifling basement – nearly as empty as the upper floor. There was just an old trunk standing in a corner.

The pair exchanged a quick look. It could be what they were looking for.

Wainwright gestured for Lisbon to deal with the lock and open it. That was her quest after all.


	4. The letter written in red ink

**The letter written in red ink**

Jane blinked repeatedly as he read that letter. His face had turned deathly pale, and his hands were trembling.

She hadn't dared to open the envelope before delivering it – yet she could pretty much guess what it was about. That was why she felt so sorry for him.

She just hoped he was going to weather the shock and the horror of it, and finally be able to leave his past behind.

"Is it really true?", he forlornly asked after a prolonged silence.

She slid a soothing hand on his forearm. "Yeah. Wainwright and I have found the evidence he had collected from each murder. There is also his diary, and… we're sure. It's him. It _was_ him. He's dead now."

"Where's the evidence?"

"Jane… we handed it over to the FBI – including that notebook. And even if we hadn't, I wouldn't let you see it."

"I… need to know. Was there anything about my wife and daughter?"

"Jane."

"Please, Lisbon. Just tell me that."

"He wrote about each of his victims in his notebook. I'm not going to add anything else about it."

"What about the other evidence?"

Lisbon struggled with the lump she felt in her throat. "There was a lock of hair from each victim – it matched their DNA. Nothing else, I swear – not about the victims anyway."

Suddenly Jane let himself fall on her couch – the one he had bought her what seemed ages before. His chest was shaking with sobs.

She picked the letter that had slipped from his hands to the floor. Somehow she had to know what Jane was dealing with right now.

_Dear Mr. Jane,_

_It's been a long time since I last wrote you a letter. I guess I owe you another one before leaving the stage._

_You know, it was just about teaching you a lesson at first. Didn't want my good reputation to be slandered, that's all. _

_Then I actually started enjoying our little cat-and-mouse game. I had finally found a worthy opponent, one whose brains could almost match mine._

_It was a very stimulating challenge. I appreciated every single moment of it._

_Sometimes murder isn't all, I guess._

_A pity that the game is over. Doctors say I might have a couple of months, maybe even less._

_I'm going to die of lung cancer, of all things. Isn't it ironic for what the media call a serial killer?_

_I wondered if I'd better take you with me on my journey to hell. Or maybe I might even let you reach your goal and kill me – sparing myself much pain as a matter of fact._

_In the end I decided against both of these things._

_I'm going to spend what remains of my life in quiet retirement. Quite a change, isn't it?_

_However, I've always been very proud of my abilities. That's why I'm going to send the police my little diary and all the mementoes I collected during my… activity._

_I'll still be remembered as a legend – despite my slightly disappointing end._

_Now, let me give you a piece of advice. Just move on, Patrick. Find yourself a life._

_I won't be there to destroy your newfound happiness. How lucky of you…_

_Fare you well, my long-enduring nemesis._

_This is goodbye._

There was no signature, not even the classic red smiley. It wasn't actually needed anyway.

Lisbon crumpled up the sheet of paper and threw it into the dustbin.

Then she sunk to her knees and hugged Jane as tightly as she'd never done before.


	5. The white china teacup

**The white china teacup**

"I can't believe he's actually dead. _Red John died of lung cancer_. It's more than ironic… it's insane."

Lisbon kept on stroking his hair. "Well, it's over anyway. It's really over this time."

"I… I don't know what to think – or what to do, for that matter."

"Then just stop thinking about it, Jane."

Reluctantly she left him alone for a moment – retreating into the kitchen in order to fetch his tea. When she was back she noticed his fingers skimming over the armrest of the sofa.

"I just hope you didn't fall for my sofa", she threw in as a joke. "Your old couch would be jealous otherwise."

A smile slowly lit up his eyes. "I don't mind. I like it."

"Come on. You'd never cheat on your faithful leather couch."

"Don't tempt me."

He was staring intently at her now – and suddenly she wasn't so sure whether they were still talking about pieces of furniture.

"Here's your tea."

As he took the white cup from her hands his fingers purposely brushed against hers. "Thank you, Lisbon."

A slight blush spread over her cheeks. "You're welcome."

She sat down next to him. Neither of them talked for a remarkably long time.

Then all of a sudden Jane broke the silence. "I like your apartment too."

Her lips twitched in an amused smirk. "I'm glad to hear that."

He carefully placed the china teacup – a beautifully crafted one, his mind vaguely noted – on the coffee table just beside him.

"I feel safe here."

For some inexplicable reason, she was unable to find a proper reply. That simple remark had deeply moved her somehow.

"Thank you for what you've done for me, by the way. I might even have to thank Wainwright as a matter of fact."

"You don't have to, Jane – not as far as I'm concerned, at the very least."

"I'm sorry you actually didn't spend your vacation with an handsome and stinking rich man though."

"Well, I don't know about _rich_, but I was beginning to appreciate Luther's company along the way."

"Liar."

That made her laugh. "What? Mature women might find his childlike candor rather attractive."

"I understand. Are you going to mother me as well in the near future, by any chance?"

Again she had a feeling that he was only half-joking. His eyes were actually searching her own.

"Would you like that?", she asked on a sudden impulse.

"Well, maybe", was all she got by way of an answer – a moment before he lured her into his arms.

Perhaps he was going to take Red John's final advice after all…


End file.
